


HappyDog

by Kitsfics



Series: SanSan One Shots [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Chatting & Messaging, F/M, Fluff, Mutually Unrequited, One-Shot, Prompt is 'unexpected', Wulf Pack 02/21, boy I really do love writing work place romances, idiots to lovers, what is it about cubicles that just fires the imagination?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsfics/pseuds/Kitsfics
Summary: Sansa and Sandor work together, and have workplace crushes on each other. They confide in an Internet friend about their workplace crushes, not realizing the real identity of UglyDog and LemonQueen.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: SanSan One Shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168991
Comments: 38
Kudos: 134
Collections: Pack Member Stories





	HappyDog

**Author's Note:**

> So this was inspired by a Tumblr post about "mutually unrequited" and how that's not a thing. I envisioned two people who like each other, and think the other person is indifferent. It is a true "idiots to lovers" drabble, and if someone asks, I might add a smutty second chapter that I have already half-written. Idk, no promises!
> 
> Enjoy the fluff!

Sansa frowned as she read the email, and sighed as she hit Reply and began to type out her response: “I did already try restarting and restoring the program to default settings. And when I go into the settings to change input, it doesn’t look anything like what you’re describing. I’m enclosing a screenshot. It’s very important that I get this fixed as soon as possible before my meeting with the client this afternoon. Would you possibly have time to come fix it yourself?”

Sansa hesitated over this last question, It was true, she did have a very important client meeting in just a few hours where she would be demonstrating the features of the app in question, meaning it was very important that the app actually work. Even more important was the face that the company they worked for produced and maintained the app in question (as well as dozens of others), so it would be nice if she could prove to a prospective client that the app, well, worked. Sansa hit send.

She tried to suppress a giddy little flutter in her stomach at the thought of the IT guy actually coming over to her desk. Of course that had nothing to do with it, she told herself. She genuinely needed IT help, she wasn’t asking him to come over just so she could ( _stomach drop)_ ogle him.

She glanced over to her deskmate Jojen. The office was set up with fairly large cubicles, with tall, padded walls that you could stick your head over, but were generally successful at absorbing noise and keeping each work area private. Two workers sat at either end of a long, C-shaped desk, with workstations angled away from each other. Generally, Sansa and Jojen worked independently, but when needed, each could twist on their swivel chair and talk to the other. Sansa thought she probably spent most of her time talking to Jojen with her eyes on her screen or her phone than face-to-face.

Predictably, Jojen could either sense her eyes on him, or maybe he just noticed the tiny shift of her head in his peripheral vision. “What’s going on?”

“Sandor’s coming over to check my computer.”

There was a flurry of typing, then two emphatic keystrokes as he locked the workstation. Jojen spun his chair around in a whirl, stopping to face Sansa. She turned slowly.

“And?” he asked, his voice trailing off at the end of the word, speaking volumes.

She could feel her cheeks flushing. “Nothing. Just wanted to let you know so he wouldn’t disturb you.”

“Mmmhmm,” Jojen harumphed, leaving his chair and heading for the break room. Sansa sighed in relief. While she normally liked Jojen and enjoyed his company, he was a terrible gossip, and she was always worried he would find out about her crush and tell everyone on the floor. That was just what she needed.

Sansa froze as she heard a heavy tread approaching. She could always hear him a ways off, and she was horribly embarrassed by the effect it had on her, She pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks, trying in vain to cool them.

Sandor’s head and shoulders appeared above her cubicle wall, Sansa looked up, then hastily stood up from her chair. She was just tall enough to look over the cubicle wall without having to stretch or go on tiptoe. Sandor towered over her, and Sansa couldn’t help a little shiver that went up her spine. It was impossible for her to see him and not want to fall to her knees, to not secretly wish he would throw her over his shoulder and carry her away to his cave where he would fuck her without undressing.

Sandor came around the cube to stand at the entrance, looking at her expectantly. He then made a gravelly sound in the back of his throat, halfway between a grunt and clearing his throat. “You asked me to fix your computer?”

Sansa’s eyes skimmed over his face, though she always had trouble looking at him directly. He had an interesting face, far from classically handsome, but rugged and pleasant to look at: chiseled jaw hid in an inch-long growth of beard, strong brows, large hooked nose, sharp grey eyes. He kept his hair on the long side, falling in soft waves just a few inches above his collar-line, dark brown and parted on the side so most of it fell over the left side of his face, where a few burn scars marred his cheek and chin.

Sansa had never learned what happened to him, though Jojen (her source for office gossip) said the understanding was it was some kind of childhood accident. She knew he was self-conscious about it, what with the way he parted his hair, and turned his head so the burns faced away from prying eyes. Sansa had never minded them, they weren’t as bad as he seemed to think. But he seemed to prefer if people didn’t look directly, so she always seemed to find her eyes gravitating down his neck, to the base of his throat, where the top button of his dress shirt was always unbuttoned, and a small tuft of his chest hair always peaked out, despite the white undershirt he always wore. Sansa tried not to think of how hairy he must be underneath.

“Yes,” she finally answered, realizing Sandor has asked her a question.

A few seconds ticked by. Sansa let her eyes drop down to his arms, and thought she might faint. He had rolled the cuffs of his shirt up, displaying forearms approximately the same size as her thigh, covered in a thick coat of long dark hair, which nevertheless couldn’t hide the swell of muscles beneath, the vein that ran down his wrist.

“Fixing your computer usually works better if I can get to it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Sansa agreed, then tore her eyes away from his wrist up to his face. “Wait, what?”

She then realized she was standing like an idiot, in front of the computer, blocking him. She blushed, and jumped aside, going to stand on Jojen’s side of the cubicle. “Of course, sorry!”

She tried to think of a good excuse for why her brain function had temporarily lapsed (sleep-deprived? Coffee not kicked in yet? A deep and overwhelming desire to lick his forearm?) but Sandor didn’t seem to care, just sat down in her chair, and grabbed her mouse. Sansa leaned against Jojen’s side of the desk, watching him, the way he filled up her side of the desk. His hands made her mouse and keyboard look tiny, and she could hardly see her monitor over his broad shoulders. She tried not to stare at him, especially when a group of her co-workers walked by, but it was hard not to stare at the back of his neck. What was it about the back of a guy’s neck, anyway? Was it the soft hairs, the way they trailed up the sides and into his hairline, or how soft the skin there looked? She didn’t know anything, except that she wanted to put her hand there, it felt like her hand would fit perfectly draped over the back.

Sandor cleared his throat again, which he always seemed to do before he spoke. “Pretty sure this is just a permissions issue. Your settings don’t look the same because you’re not set up as an admin.”

Sansa inched closer and looked over his shoulder. “Weird, I was before, I’m certain.” She caught a sudden whiff of his cologne (leather and cedar and just a hint of citrus) and had to resist the urge to shut her eyes and inhale deeply.

“Your computer automatically downloaded an update over the weekend. There’s some kind of bug where the update changes your permissions. I downloaded the patch, you should be good to go.” He started to turn the only way he could, towards Sansa, but stopped and faced the computer again.

“ _Mmhmm_ Was there anything else?”

His voice was low and gravelly, and so close to her ear. Sansa stared down at his hands, where he had begun to fiddle with his watch.

“No, that’s all. Thank you.”

After a few seconds, she realized she was still standing over his shoulder, “Oh, sorry. Coffee…” she backed up so he could stand up from the chair. “Not working…”

“ _Mmhmm_ Ok, I’ll see you later.”

Sansa blinked, he never made small talk. “Yes! I’d like that.”

He looked surprised, and Sansa realized she sounded unhinged. “I mean, yes, see you around.”

Sandor nodded and left. Sansa took a few steps over to her chair, and slumped down to sit, letting her head fall into her hands as she listened to his heavy tread retreating from her cubicle to the corner where the IT department had their desks. She groaned aloud, then pulled her cell phone and opened up the Discord app, ignoring the new conversations and going directly to the messages area, where you could send private messages to other users.

_I just had a run in with TDH._

After a few seconds, his status changed to online and the message window changed to show he was typing a response. She sighed gratefully. She could always depend on UglyDog.

After three or four months of unrequited crushing on Sandor, and unsuccessful attempts to date (why was every man she met a creepy misogynist or just plain uncharismatic? Was romance really too much to ask for?) she came across a lonely hearts Discord server. The rules were simple: this wasn’t a dating service. Real names and photos (even details like geographic location) were forbidden. Instead, it was a place to discuss (and lament) dating, to seek dating and relationship advice, to find friends outside of romantic relationships, and just generally be single with other single people without feeling a compulsion to couple up or settle. It had grown on Sansa over time, and her favorite part of her day was checking the server and reading conversations in the general chat channels, as well as getting private messages from a particular frequent user who had become her friend. His username was UglyDog, though Sansa hated the name and usually called him Puppy. 

She knew nothing about him, except that they both had an unrequited office romance. Eventually, they started sending private messages, updating each other about their encounters and tribulations with their crush. They followed the rules of the server, not exchanging real names or photos.

It had been so nice to feel recognition. So many people in the server encouraged them to just tell their crush how they felt. Sansa could tell their intentions were good, but Sansa and UglyDog both insisted they couldn’t just do that. It’d be too weird. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” Sansa had asked. “Then I have to change names and move to another country. lol”

UglyDog added a laughing emoji to that. “Plus, I just feel like it’s a sexual harassment claim waiting to happen. And then I get fired. And then I’m not only alone, I’m also unemployed and then soon homeless. I’ll keep my feelings to myself.”

She had messaged him shortly after, to say she was glad someone else got that you couldn’t just walk up to a coworker and confess your feelings. “I was starting to wonder if I just don’t have any confidence,” she told him. Ever since, they’d been friends, texting each other about TDH (Tall Dark and Handsome) and LB (Little Bird), their nicknames for their crushes.

Ugly Dog: _How did it go?_

LemonQueen: *crying emoji*

Ugly Dog: _That good?_

LemonQueen: _Why do I sound like such a fucking weirdo everytime I have to talk to him?_

Ugly Dog: _I’m sure it wasn’t that bad._

LemonQueen: _It really was. I won’t bore you, but I sounded like I’d just hit my head on something very hard. Gods, he looked so good too!_

Ugly Dog: _Ugh. I feel you. I always get so tongue-tied. Why does she have to look so cute?_

LemonQueen: _You’ve never told me what she looks like._

Ugly Dog: _Adorable. She’s always dressed really nice. Like, fashion model nice. And she smells amazing._

LemonQueen: _Omg, yes, I know what you mean. Why do they smell so good?_

Ugly Dog: _It’s so distracting._

LemonQueen: _We need to figure this shit out. How can we get our crushes to notice us? Cause I feel like I’ve been waiting and hoping this just goes away, but that really isn’t working, is it?_

Ugly Dog: _I think I’m a lost cause. Everytime I see her, she just stares at me. Like I know I’m repulsive, but seriously?_

LemonQueen: _Stop, I’m sure you’re not repulsive! Ooo, maybe you could tell me who your crush is and I’ll tell you mine, and then I’ll go find her and be like, seriously, what’s wrong with you? Puppy is a catch._

Ugly Dog: _Lol!!! And then I’ll find your crush and tell him to ask you out or I’ll beat the shit out of him!_

LemonQueen: _Omg, yes! This is a perfect plan. But I still think maybe we should try the normal way first. I’ll be thinking of ways for you to get your crush to notice you._

Ugly Dog: _Noticing me probably isn’t the issue._

LemonQueen: _Oh?_

Ugly Dog: _Without giving away too much, I’m kind of hard to miss. Plus I talk to her sometimes. Just talked to her today actually._

LemonQueen: _Really? About what? Maybe I can figure out how to work it into your next “notice me” conversation._

UglyDog: _Oh, this dumb app keeps glitching for everyone. I’ve had to fix it like a million times this week. Just had to download a patch, no biggie._

Sandor stared at his phone in puzzlement, as the seconds ticked by and LemonQueen didn’t reply. Had he said something wrong? He sighed deeply, and set his phone back on his desk, turning and unlocking his computer.

The IT department was practically empty this morning, with several members away at a conference, and the only other remaining member called in sick. It was quiet, which he appreciated. Usually with all the chatter, he had to wear headphones to drown out the conversation, but now he just sat, appreciating the distant sound of typing, phones ringing, a faint hum of conversation from the break room. Background noise.

He sat staring at his desktop background, thinking about Sansa, LittleBird as he called her to Lemon Queen, because she was chipper and bright and her red hair reminded him of a brightly colored songbird.

If only LemonQueen knew. She was always trying to downplay his claims of ugliness, although Sandor pointed out she had no way of knowing. Her reply to that had just been to emphasize that looks weren’t everything, but she highly doubted he really was ugly. He’d never told her about the scars, of course, from a car crash when he was just 6. Sometimes the rules they stuck to about no identifying information made it difficult for him to make her understand.

He scoffed at her earnest suggestion that they “get their crushes to notice them.” What he wanted to say was, “I’m six and a half feet tall and have trouble fitting through doorways. Between that, my facial scars, and the inability to actually have a normal conversation with LittleBird, trust me, she’s aware of my existence.”

He replayed the encounter again, the way her face went blank and she shot out of her chair at his approach, the way she couldn’t look him in the eye, staring at his shirt like he’d spilled food on it. Which he hadn’t, he’d checked as soon as he sat down.

He hadn’t been lying about her looks, heart-shaped face, full lips, pink cheeks, dancing blue eyes, and her hair, red and wavy and long, half of it pulled back with some kind of barrette. She was wearing a simple white blouse, with a wide collar, and a neckline that showed just a hint of cleavage, sleeves that ended at the elbow. The shirt was tucked into a black skirt, fitted at the waist and widening at her knees so it looked like a bell. Her calves were bare, and she was wearing a pair of high heels, she didn’t always wear those. She’d mentioned a client meeting, so maybe that was why. He liked it when she did, though. In heels, she was tall enough to come up to his shoulder, and Sandor could picture just dropping his head the few inches to kiss her. He always tried not to think of that when he saw her, but he was rarely successful.

When she’d finally moved to let him sit down, he typed and clicked through her computer, noticing, as he always did, the cute little trinkets on her desk. A picture of her and her family, one of her and her dog… Sandor jumped out of his reverie to frown at his computer again. Maybe he could strike up a conversation about her dog, people like that kind of thing, right?

Then she had leaned over and he got that whiff of her perfume, lavender and vanilla and something woodsy. He had turned to go, but she was still standing at his shoulder, and he found himself facing her breasts, one nipple just barely visible through the fabric. He’d turned back to the computer, hoping she hadn’t caught him staring. He fiddled with his watch as he waited for her to realize she was blocking him in.

She finally had moved away, making some weird excuse about her coffee. He’d been too distracted by her hands, suddenly gripping the back of the chair. She had such small, pretty hands, not to mention her delicate wrists. Fine-boned like a bird. He was suddenly sure he could span her wrist with one of his hands with room to spare. Could he hold both wrists in one hand?

He had decided to try small talk, but that was somehow a disaster. He mumbled something about seeing her around, to which Sansa nearly shouted at him. He’d totally lost the thread of the conversation and retreated, only realizing when he got back to his desk what she’d said: “yes, see you around.” He had sat a moment, wondering what that meant. Was she being polite? Had he yet again missed his opportunity to actually talk to her?

He glanced at his phone again, surprised that LemonQueen had just stopped messaging. She usually told him if she was going to have to get back to work, or log off for some errands or something, she didn’t usually just stop messaging like that. His phone vibrated, a notification of a new message popping up. He unlocked his phone.

LemonQueen: _Sandor?_

He froze. Oh no, did she work here? Crap crap crap.

UglyDog: _Yeah. Shit, do you know me? I’m freaking out._

No indication that she was typing. No message. Nothing. Sandor continued cursing under his breath, hoping LemonQueen would end up being one of the cool women who worked in sales or operations, not one of the killjoys in the accounting department. His panic had just reached its peak when he heard steps approaching his cubicle, quickly approaching, the sound muffled by the carpeting. He braced himself for whoever came into sight.

It was Sansa, looking frazzled. She stood for a moment in the entrance to his cubicle.

“What’s wrong, is the app not working?”

“You idiot. I’m LemonQueen.”

He froze, opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His throat was dry, so he cleared it stiffly. “What?”

“Am I LittleBird?”

She was looking into his eyes, finally not looking away. Her lips were parted, her breathing rapid, cheeks flushed. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Sansa crossed the final step to his chair, sliding into his lap and throwing her arms around his neck as she pressed her lips to his. His body responded before his head did, arms reaching up to wrap around her, one hand on her back, the other supporting the nape of her neck, finally touching those silky copper locks. Her fingers were twining through his hair, pushing it back from his scars and breaking the kiss to press her lips to his left cheek, a pressure so soft he could hardly feel it with his nerve-damaged skin. But he could feel her breath on his face, smell her perfume surrounding him.

“If I ever fucking hear you call yourself ugly again, I’ll slap the shit out of you,” she whispered, voice shaking with repressed emotion.

Sandor leaned back so he could see her expression, and couldn’t help letting out a short burst of laughter. “I promise.”

She looked away, at the base of his throat again, cringing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“Don’t do that. You can always tell me what you’re thinking.” He pushed her hair back from her eyes, dipping his head to catch her eyes. “And I like when you look at me. I thought you hated my scars because you never looked at me.”

“I thought you didn’t like when people looked at them. I was trying to be polite.”

“You stared at my shirt like I spilled something on it.”

She flushed again. “I was staring at your neck.” She traced a finger down his neck, to the collar of his shirt, lightly brushing his chest hair. “And wondering if you’re hairy everywhere.”

Gods, her blush. “What are you doing tonight?”

“What are you doing now?” she asked, grinning wickedly and wiggling her ass against him. Sandor groaned, feeling like his pants had suddenly shrunk.

The message app on his computer pinged. He glanced at it quickly, frowning at the intrusion. “I would, but I’m swamped today. And you have a client call. Tonight, we’ll get dinner.”

“Skip dinner,” she murmured, playfully biting his neck.

“Good plan, takeout,” he moaned. “My place or yours.”

“Which ever’s closer.” She stopped kissing his neck and sat up. “I just thought of something!”

“What?” He froze, panicked that she had come to her senses.

“We’ll have to quit the server! What will we say, we broke the rules and told each other who we are?”

He shrugged. “I’m just gonna tell them some bat grabbed me and started kissing me. No more Lonely Hearts for me!”

Sansa grinned and leaned in to kiss him again, starting when somebody coughed just outside the cubicle wall.

“Sansa, Willas is over at your desk looking for you. You might want to straighten up.”

Sansa popped up out of the cubicle, then stood, straightening her clothes.

“Who the fuck was that?”

“Jojen, my cube-mate.”

“Fuck, he’s like a cat. Does he know about us?”

“He suspects I have a crush, yes. I should get back.”

“Ok. I’ll see you at 5?”

Sansa combed her fingers through his hair, straightening his collar. “Yes, just a few hours.”

She kissed his cheek, the smooth one this time, and then she was gone, leaving the lavender scent behind her.

Sandor sat staring at his desktop again, still hardly daring to believe that had really happened. He knew he should check the message, get back to work, but he picked up his phone instead, unlocking it and going back into the Discord app. He navigated to his settings, username, edit: He erased “ugly” and typed in “happy” instead, then hit save.

**Author's Note:**

> Those two. There is one braincell in that office, and Jojen has sole custody. Hope you liked it!


End file.
